Never Leave a Buddy Behind, Part II
by FraidyCat
Summary: The Saga Continues. Addison escapes, Chaos ensues. WARNING: Character Death.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Never Leave a Buddy Behind, Part II**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst; The Saga Continues**

**Time line: Any Time is Good For Me**

**Summary: Addison Escapes; Chaos Ensues (Warning: Character Death)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.**

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**A/N: A pre-vacation teaser so that you'll all miss me while I am gone. Credit where it is due, to FluffNutter, for the idea for this sequel.**

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**Chapter 1**

He had thought he would enjoy it.

For the most part, it was pleasant enough sharing living quarters with his father. When things were normal, they were two ships passing, most of the time. They both had work. True, Alan only worked part-time with Stan, but he filled the rest of his time with volunteering, and his book club, and many days they didn't even share a meal together.

Things had a way of not being "normal" much at the Eppes house, though, and Alan had a parent's sixth sense about when they weren't. When Charlie was stretched to rubber band tautness because of unusual stress at school, or because of a case he was helping Don with — or lately, because of Amita's absence at Harvard — Alan morphed into Jewish Father. Chicken soup and green gelatin appeared magically, because Alan knew that stress often manifested itself in Charlie through illness. His own schedule seemed to free up, and he spent the mornings and evenings kvetching at Charlie. "You need to eat more," he would say. This was always followed by "You need to get some sleep", and Charlie often wondered how he was supposed to eat and sleep at the same time.

He was starting to dread finals week as much for the appearance of Jewish Father, as he did for the extra work it demanded of him as a tenured professor in the Mathematics Department at Cal Sci University. So when Alan had announced his plans to spend a few weeks with his sister in New York, Charlie had been delighted to see that he would be gone during finals week. Not only would his father get to spend some time with his elderly Aunt Ida, which he hadn't been able to do since she moved to New York several years ago to live near her children … _Dad would be gone during finals week!_ Charlie had thought that he would enjoy it.

Yet now, it was only Wednesday, and he was wandering around the house bored, thinking of his father's lasagna fondly. Charlie didn't think he had ever been so prepared, so caught up. Since Alan had left five days ago, there had been no one to suggest he stop working at midnight and go to bed. No one to remind him that it had only been a year ago that he suffered a seriously fractured wrist, and a back injury that resulted in temporary paralysis, and that if he wanted to get through the week without resorting to his cane again, he should be careful not to get too tired. So he had worked in a fever all weekend, and by Monday had written all his finals, which he handed to the department's secretary first thing that morning. Since he didn't have to spend his office hours writing the next final, he actually got to work on grading the ones already taken. Currently uninvolved in any consultations, he finished quickly in the evenings.

He glanced at his watch. It was only slightly after 8 p.m. He couldn't believe he had time for this during finals week, but he decided to head for the garage to work on his cognitive emergence theory. He pushed through the swinging door between dining room and kitchen.

Before it shut behind him, he felt a hand across his mouth, and he was almost lifted off his feet by the arm hooked around his neck. He struggled, shocked and terrified, but whoever had him was bigger that he was, and stronger. He was getting nowhere.

He was dragged back through the swinging door, back to the corner of the dining room. He tried again to pry the hand from his mouth. He was having trouble breathing.

"Just relax, Charlie." He heard a low voice in his ear. "Don't fight me. I don't want to hurt you again."

Charlie's hands stilled on his assailant's arm. It was a familiar voice.

"We've got to stay away from the windows. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, now, but you've got to promise to be quiet. Are you with me?"

Charlie was sure of the voice now. He felt relief and dread at the same time, but he nodded into the hand carefully. Slowly, he was released, and he turned to face his attacker.

He took some deep breaths to fill his lungs again, holding the gaze of the man before him. Finally, he managed to speak — quietly, because he had spoken quietly. "Colby. What the hell is going on?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Colby sank to the floor of the dining room. "Where's your father?"

Charlie lowered himself to the floor as well, so that he could maintain eye contact. "He's out of town. For another 10 days."

Colby visibly relaxed. "That's good. I wasn't sure how we could keep him safe."

Charlie's heart, just recently having returned to its normal rate, started pounding again. "From what? What are you doing here?"

Colby suddenly smiled. "Hey. I was watching you for a while on campus, today. You don't need the cane, anymore. That's great, Charlie."

Charlie felt himself smile in return, as his joy at being cane-less outweighed the creepiness of being watched; although just barely. "Not for several months, now. I still limp…"

Colby nodded. "Yeah, I saw that. Right leg drags a little — but I think you can only see it if you're looking for it…"

Charlie tilted his head at Colby. "It's a little more pronounced this week. I didn't get much rest this weekend." He shook the curls slightly. "Stop distracting me. You haven't told me why you're here." He remembered the surprise attack in the kitchen. "Clandestinely."

Colby frowned. "Charlie … Addison escaped military prison."

Charlie literally felt the blood freeze in his veins, and he shivered. "Escaped? Escaped a military prison? How is that possible?"

"It was during a transfer. Turns out a former member of the unit was on the transfer team. I don't know how he got on it, how the connection slipped by those guys. I do know that he was a last-minute replacement for a team member who never showed up. They found him dead in his quarters, later."

"I can't believe Addison trusted somebody else, after both Jamison and you helped take him down."

"Me, neither, at first. It looks now like this guy may have been in on the killings from the start. Albert Michaels. He was a gigantic kiss-ass when we were in Afghanistan, we all wrote him off as next to useless. Figured he was only there because his uncle was second-in-command."

"Of the unit?"

Colby grinned a little. "Of the Army, Charlie."

Charlie raised his eyebrows while Colby continued. "Anyway, before I left … my office, I did some research, and I can place him in the same general area with three of the dead guys, at the same time. No other connection…not even consecutive victims. And when Addison agreed to work with Jamison, and then me, we thought he had been working alone."

Now Charlie was frowning. "I still don't get it. Why are you here?"

Colby's voice grew angry. "Our pals at DOD are keeping a lid on this, Charlie. Outside one lousy CIA operative they sent after him, they haven't told anybody. Addison's going to go after the guys he missed the first time. Even if you weren't already on that list, he believes you willingly helped me trap him, last year. He's coming after you. I know he's in L.A. already. We've got to get you out of here."

Charlie tried to push down his rising fear. "I can't…wait. How do you know about the CIA operative? And if he's the only one after Addison, how did you find out about the escape? And that he's already here?"

Colby just looked at him for a second.

"Come on, Whiz Kid. Two plus two. You can do it."

Charlie's eyes widened again, and his breath caught in his throat. Colby _was_ the CIA operative. He was straying from his directive, in order to protect Charlie.

Holy, freakin', shit.

Charlie couldn't speak, and he involuntarily scooted back a little. His brain screamed at him to wake up. It was not possible that he was huddled in the corner of his dark dining room with a CIA operative. It defied belief that said operative was trying to protect him from a madman who wanted him dead because over five years ago, he had been part of an encryption team. Applied mathematics. He taught applied mathematics. He had coffee with students, he didn't attract military madmen.

Colby reached a hand out to tug on his sleeve. "Don't go too far. Keep away from the line of sight from the windows."

Charlie's stomach churned. "We … We've got to call Don."

"NO!" Colby's objection was immediate. "What we've got to do is wait until dark, and then get you out of here. I know a place, in the mountains. That's why I'm glad we don't have to worry about your Dad — I wasn't sure he could make it over the terrain." His eyes wandered to Charlie's legs. "You been hiking since the accident?"

Charlie shook his head.

"I think you'll be okay. Anyway, once I've got you stashed, I can concentrate on neutralizing Addison, once and for all."

Neutralizing? The word sat at the bottom of Charlie's churning stomach.

"Why can't we call Don? He … He can help …"

Colby sighed. "Charlie, I don't think he'd even believe me. I told you, it's not released information, at any level. When he checks it out, he won't find anything. He'll think I came back to hurt you again, or worse. Last time I saw Don, he broke my nose, my jaw and cracked three ribs. What do you think he'd do this time?"

He waited for Charlie to say something, and when he didn't, Colby continued. "I'm it, Charlie. I. Am. It. If Don takes me out before I get Addison, you won't be safe until you're dead too."

Charlie considered.

He was surprised when he realized that Don was one of the only people in the world he completely trusted. Then he was terrified.

"But … it's finals week. I can't just disappear."

Colby pulled out a cell phone. "No GPS chip. Special op phone. Untraceable. Call Larry. Tell him something, anything — except the truth. Don't call Don, you can't hide anything from Don. Ask Larry to call him tomorrow."

Charlie accepted the phone and tried to think of something. Finally he called Larry, but succeeded only in reaching his voice mail. "Larry this is Charlie. I have to go … My Dad is still in New York and my Aunt Ida just called; Uncle Morrie has had a heart attack. She's hysterical at the hospital in San Diego, she needs help. I've only got three more finals, and they're all written. Please arrange for a Proctor for me? I should be back in just a few days, and I'll grade them over the weekend … first of next week at the latest. Also, let Don know; he must be on a case, I can't reach him. Tell him … tell him about Uncle Morrie. Thanks. See you in a few days."

He handed the phone back to Colby, who was frowning.

"Was that a good idea? Can't Don check on your Uncle Morrie?"

"Don's not exactly the doting nephew," Charlie said truthfully. "He'll be more than happy that I'm taking care of it. I'll be surprised if he even asks about it after I get back."

"Even if you're not back by the weekend?"

Charlie started to panic. "How long are you going to leave me?"

Colby touched his sleeve again. "I hope not long. We should be where we need to start hiking by morning, at the cabin by noon…it'll be tomorrow night before I get back here. Addison's trail will be cold." He sighed again in frustration.

"I can't stay holed up in some cabin in the mountains until you decide to come back for me. What if something goes wrong? What if Addison gets you first?"

"Dammit Charlie, you will stay there until I come back for you. You can spend the time thinking of a way to talk yourself out of trouble if you're … delayed."

Charlie didn't answer. He was too busy hoping that Don listened to Larry closely enough, and remembered enough family history to know that Charlie was sending him a message. Aunt Ida was in New York, with Dad. Uncle Morrie had been dead for years. Neither of them had ever lived in San Diego. He shook his head against his thoughts. What good would it do for Don to figure that out, anyway? He might know that Charlie was in trouble, but he would never guess that Colby was back, and spiriting him into the mountains.

Colby shifted on the floor. "Listen, Charlie, is there a gun in the house? A handgun, maybe? You should be armed. I know you know how they work, I remember Don taking you to the range last year."

Whoa. If Colby was going to let Charlie carry a loaded weapon, he must really not be here to kill him. He must be telling the truth about Addison.

If Colby was going to let Charlie carry a loaded weapon, he must be crazy.

"That was my one-and-only trip to a firing range," he started. "I was shaking so hard I don't think I even hit the target once. Didn't Don …" He stopped speaking abruptly when Colby slapped a hand over his mouth, rising into a crouch and drawing a Sig Sauer out of nowhere.

"Shut-up!", he hissed. "Get over to the wall, take cover around the corner of the hutch." Colby shoved him roughly toward the hutch, and began to creep forward, still in a crouch. "I hear something."

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**A/N: Ha! Live with that cliffie for a while, why don't ya?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay. I came to work at 6:30 this morning to finish everything and my pre-vacation frenzy paid off. So here is one last bonus. This time I mean it – make it last until June 11 or so!**

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**Chapter 3**

Charlie cowered behind the hutch and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard a crash from the kitchen and began whispering a mantra. _"PleaseLetItBeDon, PleaseLetItBeDon, PleaseLetItBeDon, PleaseLetItBeDon …"_

Seconds later he heard the unmistakable _WhooshPopPing_ of a bullet whistling through a silencer, and his mantra changed. _"PleaseDon'tLetItBeDon, PleaseDon'tLetItBeDon, PleaseDon'tLetItBeDon, PleaseDon'tLetItBeDon …"_

He heard the squeak of the door swinging on its hinges, immediately followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. He felt a tiny rush of air when it hit, but he didn't open his eyes, and kept whispering his mantra.

He wasn't sure how long passed before he heard Colby's voice again. "Whiz Kid. You can open your eyes now. And don't worry. It's not Don."

Charlie popped one eye open, and jerked back in surprise at the sight of a body lying a few feet away. He opened his other eye, staring at the apparition. "Who is that? Is that dead?"

Colby sighed. "Yep. Meet Albert Michaels. Idiot had the drop on me and missed."

Charlie kept staring. "I don't … um … I don't see any blood …"

"Too messy," Colby answered. "This carpet looks fairly new. So I broke his neck."

That got Charlie's eyes off the strange body long enough to look at Colby. He felt his gaze drawn to Colby's hands. He could kill a man with those? Good to know.

Colby interrupted Charlie's fragmented thoughts. "We can't wait until dark, Charlie. Obviously you're Number 1 on the Hit Parade. Addison is probably waiting to hear from this idiot."

Charlie blinked at him. Colby was sitting on the floor again, leaning on the opposite wall of the dining room. He frowned and raised his voice a little. "Don't freak out on me, Chuck. I need you thinking."

Charlie jerked again at the hated nickname. "Don't call me that. And I am thinking. I'm thinking there's a dead man in my dining room and I'm listening to the man who killed him — with his bare hands, yet — tell me this was the bad guy. I'm thinking one of us is crazy."

"If I wanted to kill you, Charlie, I could have done it a dozen times already." Colby pushed himself up the wall. "We haven't got time for this. For all I know, Addison is watching the house." He stepped up to the table and lifted Charlie's backpack off it, turned it upside down and emptied it. Papers fluttered off the table, books thudded, his lap top actually bounced.

Charlie jumped to his feet, clawing at the rain of papers around him. "Hey!", he started, but Colby threw the empty backpack at him and Charlie dropped the papers again to catch it.

"Fill this up. If you have a gun, put it in there. Extra ammo. Change of clothes. Water. Money. ID. There should be some dehydrated food left at the cabin, but you'd better bring something to eat anyway. Non-perishable. Hurry up. You've got five minutes. Stay away from the windows, and don't turn on any lights. Don't bring your cell. Meet me back here."

Charlie stood in indecision for a few seconds after Colby gave his orders and disappeared again into the kitchen. He looked at the cell that had fallen out of his pack, and thought again about calling Don. Then he looked at the dead man on the floor. He was so grateful that it wasn't Don, and he couldn't risk the next one being his brother. He had to trust Colby.

Sticking to the walls, he hurried upstairs. In his room, he picked some jeans up off the floor and threw them into the pack, snatched a t-shirt out of the dresser. He opened the closet and took out the small handgun safe that Don had talked him into buying along with the Ruger a couple of years ago. State-of-the-art biometrics, the safe only opened when his fingerprints — or his father's, or Don's — were read by the handkey recognition system. While he waited for the scan, he noticed that his hand was shaking. He wondered if it would even work, but soon he heard the _click_ and jerked the safe open, shoved the Ruger and a box of ammo into the bag. His mind registered a pencil on the desk and before he could talk himself out of it he scribbled something in the margin of a journal article he had been reading the night before. He ran for the stairs, but veered at the last second to the bathroom, where he grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink. It should have aspirin or something in it, and dead guys in the dining room seemed to give him a headache.

Finally he hit the stairs, taking them three-at-a-time at a dead run. In the dining room he had to jump over Albert Michaels, who was staring up at him, head at an odd angle to the rest of his body. Charlie tried to erase the image from his mind as he raced to the kitchen and filled the rest of the bag with bottled water from the refrigerator, and energy bars from the pantry.

When he pushed back into the dining room, zipping the bag, Colby was waiting.

Charlie looked at him. "Now … Now w-wh-what?"

"First, take a breath. I've got a rental car. It was parked a few blocks away. It's backed up to the kitchen door, now. If Addison is watching, he just let me off the hook. But we can't take any chances, so I popped the trunk. Until we get somewhere safer, or it gets dark or something, you're in the trunk. I backed as close to the door as I could, you should be covered by the open door and the trunk lid. Just slide in, I'll slam the lid and we're off. Give me the pack. I'll keep it up front, so you have more room."

Charlie gaped at him for a moment, started shaking his head. "No. No. I don't think so."

Colby crossed his arms. "There's plenty of air, Charlie. I may have aereated the vehicle some. Probably would cost me. … if I were using the name of an actual person."

Charlie was still shaking his head. He was somewhat surprised his own voice seemed so calm and reasonable. "No, I don't believe I'll be riding in the trunk, Colby. Not a good idea. If that's the only option, I'd rather stay here and take my chances with Addison. Thank you very much for killing this man, though."

Colby's eyes narrowed. "I remember now. Don and I got trapped in a broken elevator for a while a couple of years ago, and he said we were lucky you weren't with us. You're claustrophobic."

Charlie started to walk by Colby. Just imagining himself shut in the trunk of a car was making him feel funny. Like he should lie down on the couch for a while. He was still very reasonable, however, a tiny comfort. He offered the pack to Colby. "Here. Maybe you'll be able to use some of this. I think I'll just wait here. For something."

He thought Colby was reaching out for the pack, but then Charlie felt himself whipped around — he didn't even know how — and Colby's arm was hooked around his neck again, as it had been when he had first surprised him in the kitchen. Still reasonable, he thought, as he abstractly considered that Colby was going to kill him after all … which was preferable to the trunk.

Colby waited until the latereal vascular neck restraint sealed the jugular vein, depriving Charlie's brain of oxygen. He could feel the professor's pulse pounding wildy, and as he started to struggle, Colby tightened the restraint. Seconds that seemed like hours passed, until he finally felt Charlie slump toward the floor. Colby quickly released the hold long enough to shoulder the backpack Charlie had dropped, but re-applied it before he could regain consciousness. He stepped over Michaels' body, dragging Charlie's dead weight over the dead limbs, backed through the swinging door and through the kitchen. Still maintaining the hold, although not as tightly, he open the kitchen door and surveyed the landscape one last time. Then he released Charlie's neck and cradled his entire body.

"Dude is heavier than he looks," he grunted, and staggered the two steps to the open trunk. Taking care with Charlie's head, he dropped him inside. Before he closed the lid, he fussed with the pack's zipper and managed to get it down far enough to grab a bottle of water, which he laid gently in one of Charlie's limp hands.

He took one last look at the unconscious man. "Sorry, Whiz Kid." He slammed the lid, opened the driver's door and threw the pack across the seat, slid in after it.

Eyes constantly scanning the horizon, Colby Granger drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Dudes. Dude-lets. Bahama Mama's back. Hope you haven't forgotten our little tale…**

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**Chapter 4**

Don lifted one hand from the wheel and rubbed the back of his neck, sighed tiredly. He glanced at the clock glowing in the dashboard. It was after 10 o'clock, and he had just left the office. As he dropped his hand back to the steering wheel, he let out another sigh — this one of contentment. At least it was over. The case was closed, even the paperwork was cleared up. In triplicate.

As he turned the SUV onto the street where Charlie's house was, he hesitated. It was awfully late to just drop by, and he was exhausted. Charlie probably would be too — wasn't this finals week? Still, Don hadn't seen his brother since the night before their father left for New York, and he didn't want him to think he only came by the house when Alan was home, for free food. Or that he only contacted Charlie if he needed something for a case. He guided the vehicle around the last corner. He would just stop for a few minutes.

He glided into the driveway, behind Charlie's car, and frowned. The house was dark. He looked over at the garage. Dark also. He had fully expected to find Charlie working his usual ridiculous hours — on steroids — during finals week, not going to bed early.

He started to shift back into reverse. He'd catch up with Charlie tomorrow. Unless he caught a new case, Don should even have time to meet near campus for lunch. He looked in the rear view mirror to check traffic, and his eyes wandered back to the house again.

Knowing Dad, he had left several enticing dishes in the freezer.

Knowing Charlie, he had ignored them all.

Further knowing Charlie, he had probably come home from Cal Sci and crashed on the couch. He probably had hours of work to do, yet.

Someone should wake him up.

An evil grin spread across Don's face, and he turned off the idling engine, ripped the key from the ignition, slid out of the SUV and headed for the kitchen door. He shook his head when he found it unlocked. How many times had he talked to Charlie about using his head when it came to simple safety matters?

He pushed open the door, flipped on the kitchen light. "Charlie! You here?" He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, and rolled up his sleeves. Stopping at the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer, twisted it open with one hand as he opened the freezer.

Bless me Father, for I am hungry.

He peered at the labels. There was at least two weeks' worth of single-serving dishes in here, and it had already been almost a week. Had Charlie eaten anything since Dad left? Don chose two labeled "Meat Loaf" and put them on the counter. He drew on the beer. Microwaved meat loaf. Beer. Nectar of the Gods.

He put the beer down and placed the freezer-to-microwave dishes directly into the unit. "Charlie!" This time he yelled louder, and longer. He set the machine for "Defrost" and started the timer. Picking up the beer again, he frowned. Maybe Charlie really wasn't here, even though his car was in the driveway. He could be out with someone else. Don shook his head. That was highly unlikely during finals week. Probably crashed on the couch.

Don headed to the living room. He pushed through the swinging door, automatically reached to flip on the dining room light. He tilted his head back for more beer, still walking, and tripped over something on the floor. He tried to re-balance, but whatever it was must be pretty big, and Don felt himself falling.

He had time to hope that Charlie wasn't lying awake on the couch watching him. This was embarrassing. He managed to stop himself on his knees and even kept the beer from spilling. He looked back to see what was on the floor.

This time he spilled the beer, dropping it from numb fingers. Still on his knees, he turned toward the body, forced himself to feel for a pulse, although it was pretty apparent from the angle of this guy's neck that there would not be one. Don sat back and tried to think while he looked around.

There was a dead man in his brother's dining room. His neck was broken. Papers and books and Charlie's laptop were scattered all over the place. Charlie's cell phone was on the table. Afraid of what he would see, Don looked over his shoulder to the couch.

He didn't know whether to be relieved that Charlie wasn't lying there dead, or terrified that Charlie wasn't lying there at all. He guessed he'd have to be both.

He stood, flipping open his cell with one hand and unholstering his weapon with the other. "Megan. I need you and David, now. Something's wrong at Charlie's house. You'd better call 9-1-1. Some guy I don't know is dead, here. I haven't found Charlie yet. I'm going to clear the house."

Megan stuttered a little in her surprise. "D – D – Don, don't do that. Wait for back-up. I'm on my way, I was still in the car when you called. Five minutes."

Don ignored her. "Call David. 9-1-1." He flipped the phone shut again and began to work his way around the bottom floor of the house, opening cupboards and closets not really big enough to conceal anyone, but he had read "Helter Skelter" at Quantico — he knew where Charles Manson had been found.

When he was sure the ground floor was clear, he headed for the stairs. He checked the rooms in the order of perimeter. His old room. Under the bed. The closet. Dad's room. Under the bed. The closet. Bathroom. Cupboard under the sink was open. Bathtub empty, behind the shower curtain. Finally, Charlie's room.

He stood in the door and looked in. Charlie kept his room such a mess, how was he supposed to know whether or not there was a struggle here? Then he saw the handgun safe on the desk, and walked over to it. Empty. Even the extra box of ammo was gone. Just to be thorough, he checked under this bed and in this closet, then holstered his weapon again and turned his attention back to the desk. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Not going to be able to tell what was wrong with this picture — except for the safe in the middle of all the papers and magazines. He smiled slightly. "Journals." Charlie would hate Don referring to the stuff he read as "magazines".

His cell rang and he flipped it open. "Eppes."

"Don, I'm in the driveway." It was Megan. "I hear sirens. Where are you?"

"Charlie's room. House is clear, you can come up. Kitchen is unlocked; watch the body in the dining room."

Don heard her on the stairs when his cell rang again. He answered it as he met her at the doorway. "Eppes."

"Don, it's Larry Fleinhardt."

Don nodded at Megan and twisted his head to stretch his neck. "Larry. Listen, I can't talk right now, I just got to a … a crime scene. I may need your help on this one; can I call you back in a few minutes?"

"Of course. I understand." Despite his words, Larry sounded a little frazzled. "It's just that I'm a little concerned about Charles."

Don, who had started pacing the room, froze. "Wait. What? Why?"

"You're working," Larry began. "We can talk…"

"No! No!" Don's command was so loud it startled even him. "Tell me why you're concerned."

Larry began hesitantly. "It's just … well, the physics department faculty had a dinner this evening. I neglected to take my cell phone. I just returned, and when I checked, Charles had left a rather confusing voice mail."

"When? What did he say?"

"The message was left around 8. He said that he'll miss the rest of finals week, that he's been called away to San Diego, an emergency with your Aunt Ida and Uncle Morrie? Don, do you have two Aunts named 'Ida'? I was under the impression that was who Alan went to see in New York … and the last two days of finals? That's not like Charles at all."

Don gripped the phone tighter. "What kind of emergency?"

"He said that your Uncle Morrie had a heart attack. He asked me to pass that along to you; he said he couldn't reach you."

Don had been in the office all night. Neither his office phone nor his cell had rung.

"Don?"

"Larry. Have you erased that voice mail?"

"Not yet, no."

"I need to hear it. Can you bring it to Charlie's house?"

Larry was nonplussed. "Of course. Tonight? I thought you were at a crime scene?"

Don squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. "I am. The crime scene is Charlie's house. Larry, Uncle Morrie did have a heart attack, but it was years ago, and it killed him. I always felt badly that I couldn't come home from Albuquerque for the service. And he and Aunt Ida — my _only_ Aunt Ida — always lived in L.A., never San Diego. And you're right; Charlie wouldn't ditch finals. I can't find him. There's a dead man in his dining room, some guy I've never seen before, and I can't find Charlie."

"Oh, my. This is quite disturbing. I'll be there right away."

"Thanks, Larry." Don disconnected and looked at Megan. "What the hell is going on?"

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Ten minutes later, Charlie's house and driveway were lit to the skies, and crawling with LAPD officers, CSI technicians, three forlorn FBI agents and one agitated physics professor.

Don stopped the guided tour he was conducting for David, Megan and Larry in the dining room. They stood well back, out of the way, but the victim was still visible. He noted the look on Larry's face.

"What is it? Do you know him?"

Larry frowned, shook his head. "No, no, Don, it's not that."

Don tried not to sound exasperated. "Then what?"

Larry kept looking around the dining room. "I was just wondering where his backpack is. All these papers, books, the lap top, the cell … everything came out of there. Shouldn't it be here also?"

Don blinked at Larry. "You're right." He suddenly had a thought. "Come up and look at his room. I can't tell if anything is out of place there or not. Maybe you'll see something." He started to lead the group upstairs. "All I know for sure is that his gun is gone."

Larry hesitated on the stair behind Don. "Charles has a gun?"

"Yeah. I finally talked him into keeping one in the house for protection. I've gotten him to go the range with me a few times. He's really not a bad shot, but he hates it so much he hasn't come with me in months."

"Probably figuring the trajectory angles and shooting mathematically without even knowing it," David offered. They all paused and looked at him. "What? Is that so hard to believe?"

Larry started up the stairs again. "Actually, no. He just never mentioned owning a gun to me, or having shot one, even."

Don led them into Charlie's bedroom. "I told you. He hates it. I think he tries to forget it's even here." He pointed to the desk. "But there's the empty safe."

Larry and Megan walked toward the desk, while David stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. "Are you sure there wasn't a struggle in here?"

"My point exactly," Don answered. "What do you think, Larry?"

Larry had turned his head and was looking at the journal under the safe. Megan followed his eyes. "Are those math symbols?"

He shook his head. "No. It's rather odd, but it appears to be the alphabet."

She frowned. "No, it's not. Charlie's scribbles can be hard to read, but these aren't letters."

He was still looking. "Not _our_ alphabet, Megan. It's Greek."

Her face cleared suddenly. "Oh! That's what looks familiar. Those two together, two 'Delta' symbols. I recognize those from fraternities at college."

He looked at her and smiled briefly, then turned his attention back to the journal as Don and David came to look over their shoulders. "Yes, and probably these near the end are familiar from sororities. Sigma and Nu."

Don interrupted. "So why is Charlie writing about frat houses and sororities in the margins of a math journal?"

Larry tilted his head a little. "It's an alphabet, Don, not just a way to label the affluent young collegian. It could be a word … or letters that signify several words … let's see. If we start at the left-hand side of the page, we have alpha-delta-delta-iota-sigma-omicron-nu…" He looked expectantly at the group of agents, who just stared back at him with various levels of blankness. He sighed, looked back at the scribbles. "Forgive me. In English, then, it would be A – D – D – I – S – O – N. Addison. Does that mean anything to you?" He looked at them again, and this time was met alternatively with looks of shock, disbelief, and something else that could only be labeled as fear.

"Oh, dear." He raised one hand to his mouth so that he could bite down on a nail. "What's wrong?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Consciousness came back to him slowly, measured in sensations.

The low rumble that either surrounded him, or had replaced what used to be his head.

Something cool on his hand.

Overwhelming darkness. Much darker than it ever was, in his bedroom. Except for that eerie, red glow … was there some sort of odd eclipse, filtering the light of the moon? Why hadn't Larry told him this was going to happen?

Pain. His right hip and leg stiffened if kept in the same position for too long. He tried to stretch, felt and heard a metallic 'thunk' that crashed through the remaining fog and reminded him of it all. Colby. Addison. Michaels. Dead. Dining room.

Trunk. Colby had said he was going to make him ride in the trunk of the car.

He quickly raised his arms, and they met solid, cold, metal a few inches over his face. His fingertips traced the confines of the metal, while he kicked out with his feet to do the same.

No doubt about it.

He was in the trunk of a car. That rumbling noise was the engine.

Charlie kicked hard, banged his fists on the trunk lid, shouted.

"COLBY! LET ME OUT!"

How long had he been unconscious?

Why in the name of all that was holy had he woken up?

Charlie tried to force his breathing to slow down. He felt around at his sides, found the cool bottle again. What was that? He brought it as close to the red glow as he could. He thought he recognized it as a bottle of water, the brand they used at the house. Colby had left him a bottle of water?

He used it to bang harder on the metal.

"PLEASE! PULL OVER! COLBY! COLBY!"

He kicked some more. Somehow, he managed to kick out the taillight, and he felt a rush of cool air on his ankle. It was a tiny comfort. Despite holding the cool bottle of water, he was so warm he would rip everything off if he could. Not just his clothes. His skin. Everything. He wished he could maneuver around to put his face down by the rush of air — maybe it would help. After a brief and pointless struggle, he gave up. It would be easier to break the other taillight.

He shifted the bottle to his other hand, used the capped end to pound at the light. He pounded as hard as he could. He didn't notice when he started sobbing, or when he caught the plastic bottle on the latch of the trunk, puncturing it. He didn't notice that with every subsequent slam he sent the water cascading down his arm, rolling under his body. He didn't even notice when his wet hand slipped and caught on the same latch, didn't feel the pain of it slicing into him, didn't differentiate between the flow of blood and the trickle of water.

He didn't even realize he was screaming.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby turned up the radio, but he could still hear the thumps coming from the back of the car, the occasional shout.

He felt badly about this, he really did.

As soon as they were far enough out, and he was sure they weren't being followed, he would let Charlie out.

He remembered a small roadside store and gas pump just a few miles from the last turn into the mountains that they would make before they had to start walking. It would probably be closed by now. He could pull in back, where other cars wouldn't see them.

The thumping seemed more frantic. Probably his imagination.

"Just hang on, Chuck," he thought. "Just another hour."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"_Charlie, go down to the basement and get my roller blades. I'm spending the night with Andrew tonight, and I want to take them with me."_

"_I don't wanna." The seven-year-old spoke in a small voice. "I don't like it in the basement."_

_Don opened his closet and took out his sleeping bag. "Come on. Don't be such a little weasel. Just turn on the light at the top of the stairs."_

_Charlie shook his curly head. "No."_

_Andrew laughed and rose from his position on Don's bed. "Come on, Squirt, I'll go with you."_

_Charlie didn't like Andrew much more than he did the basement, but Don would get angry if he didn't do it, so he reluctantly went along. Andrew led the way down the basement stairs, retrieved Don's skates from the pile of bats and baseballs and surfboards and basketballs. Then he looked at Charlie and pointed to the stairs._

"_You were right to be scared. I could tell coming down that those weren't safe. We're too heavy together. Let me go up first. Then you."_

_Charlie shook his head again. He didn't want to be last. But the staircase had spaces in-between each step, and when he went up he was sure something would come out of the shadows under the stairs to grab him, so he didn't want to be first, either. He stood rooted to the spot._

_Andrew smiled. "It's okay. Just be careful." Without another word he sprinted up the stairs. At the top he looked down, and laughed. "You are so easy, Charlie." With that, he flipped off the light and left, slamming the door behind him._

_Charlie managed to yell "Andrew!" once before he was too frightened to speak. He backed away from the stairs. There was no way he could go up there now. Whatever lived in the dark shadows under the stairs would surely feel safe enough to come through the cracks and drag him away. He whimpered and backed away a little more, feeling the solid washing machine behind him. He crawled into the space between it and the dryer. Maybe they wouldn't see him here, if he was quiet. If he could stop crying._

_Later, they told him that he was missing for hours. His parents had been ready to call the police. In a last-ditch effort, Alan had walked to Andrew's home three houses away to ask Donnie when he had last seen his brother. Andrew caved immediately when faced with Donnie's father, and confessed leaving Charlie in the dark basement. Alan used Andrew's parent's telephone to call Margaret and tell her to check the basement, then dragged Donnie home with him, forbidding him to ever play with Andrew again. When they arrived home and found Margaret and Charlie huddled on the couch, both in tears, even Donnie seemed both relieved and angry at the same time. He never complained about not being allowed to play with Andrew any more._

_Charlie sat on his mother's lap and sobbed late into the night, holding tightly to her neck, terrified that if he let go, he would be alone in the dark again._

Charlie jerked awake, gasping.

Oh, God.

Somehow, he had fallen asleep in the trunk of Colby's car, and the terror and the darkness had brought it back. The long-repressed memory.

Oh, God.

Maybe it wasn't a memory. Maybe he was still crouched between the washing machine and the dryer.

He wasn't staying here, wherever he was.

With both hands and both feet, he struck out for freedom.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Relieved, Colby pulled slowly around the back of the roadside market. Things had been quiet for a while, but then it had suddenly gotten worse, a few minutes ago.

He hurried to the rear of the vehicle, popping the trunk as he went. When he got to the back of the car, he lifted the lid. He placed a hand over Charlie's mouth so that no one passing could hear the hoarse shouts. In the light of the moon and the stars, he could see the terrified look in Charlie's eyes, the fresh and dried tears on his face, the broken, bruised and bloody knuckles on the hands that reached for his.

He sat Charlie up. "Take it easy, Charlie. Swing your legs out. You can get out, now, but you've got to be quiet." When Charlie made no move, Colby cautiously removed his hand. Harsh breathing, but no more shouting. He leaned over to move Charlie's legs, helped him stand and balance outside. Charlie was shaking violently. "Hang on, here." Colby placed Charlie's hand on a fender and hurried to the back seat of the car. He leaned in and grabbed Charlie's pack. He hurried back to the rear of the car.

"Shit, Whiz Kid, I'm sorry. I mean, I knew you were claustrophobic, but geez…" He stopped in front of Charlie. He placed the backpack in the trunk. "Here. I think you need your change of clothes. You can change back here. I'll keep an eye out in front for a few minutes." Colby started to turn, then stopped. "Unless you need some help?"

The smell of his own urine and the feeling of his jeans plastered damply against his legs brought Charlie back to himself — although he immediately wished he could leave, again. He silently shook his head, shakily put a hand on this pack.

Colby spoke again, gently. "I'm really sorry, Charlie. I didn't know it would be this bad." There was regret in his voice. "It seems every time I try to help you, I end up almost killing you." He tried to meet Charlie's eyes, but the professor wouldn't look at him. "We're … we're almost there. A few more miles on a gravel road, and then we walk for a few hours. You going to be okay?"

Charlie still didn't say anything. He just grabbed his backpack and limped around the far side of the car. Colby watched him go. "Shit," he whispered again, fiercely. Then he turned and ran in a crouch toward the front of the building.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Director Merrick stepped off the elevator and joined Don, Megan and David in the bullpen. "I finally reached Director Samuels at DOD," he announced as he arrived at Don's desk. "Not as easy to do as it should be at…" — he checked his watch — "almost 2:30 a.m., in Washington. He insists Addison is still contained, in military custody at Fort Leavenworth."

David hung up his phone and stood to join the Director at Don's desk. "Got a rush on those prints, thanks to a word from the Director here. The man in Charlie's living room is Albert Michaels, U.S. Army. Get this. He's military police, based at Leavenworth."

"That's pretty damn coincidental," mused Don.

"It gets worse," continued David. "Officer of the Day checked, and Michaels showed up for duty this morning — as a last-minute substitute on a transport team. Addison was headed back to court. O.D. said Michaels never signed out, but he also said that kind of inattention to the rules wasn't unusual with Michaels."

"I don't trust Samuels," noted Director Merrick. "Let's contact Granger. Maybe he knows something."

The suggestion was met with silence.

Finally Megan joined the group of men. "What do you mean, 'contact Granger'?"

The Director looked around as if to make sure they weren't overheard, even though they were the only ones in the bullpen at this hour. "After the events of last year, I'm sure he's kept his ear to the ground on this Addison situation. Besides, he's CIA now. That gives him additional resources."

Don slumped in his chair and stared at the Director. "CIA? How did that happen? I thought Samuels took him into DOD from here…"

"Apparently Granger used the situation to his advantage," Merrick answered. "All I know with certainty is that a few months after he left here, the CIA contacted me for a reference."

Don looked at him incredulously. "And you gave him one?"

Merrick stiffened. "You would have preferred that he continue working here, perhaps?" Don didn't answer and the Director continued. "Actually, I felt that Granger was particularly well-suited to serve as a CIA operative. Of course, I don't _absolutely know _ that he was hired in that position, but I could call in some more favors …"

David cleared his throat. "That … uh, that won't be necessary, sir. I have contact information for Colby."

Now Don was staring at him — along with Director Merrick and Megan. David waited for someone to speak.

"Then I would suggest that you contact him," the Director finally said. "I'm going back to my office. There are some more resources I can tap regarding Leavenworth." He turned to head back for the elevator.

Don stood, and called after the older man. "Director, I appreciate your help on this one." The Director merely raised a hand as he continued walking away, so Don turned to David. It didn't escape anybody's notice that Megan had placed herself between them.

Don raised an eyebrow.

David sighed, but didn't back down. He looked Don in the eye. "He was my partner. A good agent, in an impossible situation. He came through LAX several months … after Addison. Had a layover and called me. I met him there for a drink. He didn't tell me exactly what he was doing, but from what he did say, CIA doesn't really surprise me. We've kept in touch since then."

Don looked at Megan. She raised both hands. "Don't look at me. I didn't know any of this." She decided to put her cards on the table. "But if I did, Don — if he had called me from LAX — I would have done the same thing. What happened to Charlie was terrible, it could have been tragic; but if Colby hadn't intervened, Addison would have killed him."

Don blanched, and she regretted her words. "We don't know that Addison has him, Don. Director Samuels says he's still contained…"

Don looked at David again, rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, this is your call." His eyes flickered to Megan. "Both of you. I'm not going to tell you how to feel about Colby Granger." He looked back at David. "But I am going to ask you to contact him. Please. Find out if he knows anything."

David nodded. "On it." He and Megan walked back to their own desks, and Don fell back into his chair.

He considered what he knew, with certainty. One was that Albert Michaels somehow ended up dead in Charlie's dining room. Another was that Charlie was missing, and had left information Don would easily discover was false with Larry, about where he had gone. A third was that at some point, he had felt the need to scribble "Addison" in Greek in the margin of a math journal — but he couldn't even be sure that Charlie had done that recently. Maybe he had a nightmare, or something. That would be understandable. The original encryption project for the DOD, Addison's desire to kill him and everyone else connected with that project, Colby's apparent betrayal and then accidental serious injury to him, the months he spent recovering from that spinal cord injury, the lingering affects that he would always have — it could amount to nightmares for anyone.

Don wasn't sure what to do, now.

He had sent a distraught Larry home after he had listened to the voice mail and gotten all the information he could. Should he call Amita? Maybe Charlie had told her something. He shook his head. Unlikely. As far as he knew, Charlie and Amita didn't exchange more than an occasional e-mail, anymore. She had been at Harvard for over a year, since before Charlie's injury. Charlie hardly ever mentioned her name anymore, and always looked so uncomfortable when someone else did that Don suspected he was still dealing with the ramifications of that relationship.

Should he call his father? And tell him what, exactly? "Hey, Dad, just thought you'd like to know about the dead guy in your dining room — and by the way, have you got Charlie?"

He looked up as David approached his desk again. "I left a message," said the other agent. "I told him it was urgent, but if he's out on an operation, it could be days before he gets back to me."

Don sighed, rubbed his eyes and opened the top drawer of his desk to search for aspirin.

"Wait. Give me that last name again?"

The tone of Megan's voice led Don to get up and cross to her desk, followed closely by David. She was hanging up her phone as they arrived, and looked at Don with a worried frown. "Forensics lifted several sets of prints from the house. Mostly what you would expect — Charlie, your Dad, you. There are still several unidentified, but there was one more set already in our employee database, where they found yours and Charlie's."

"Me?" asked David. "I went by a couple of weekends ago and talked to Charlie about my niece. She wanted some information on Cal Sci."

Megan shook her head, still looking at Don. "I think we can stop waiting for Colby to return David's call. His prints were all over Charlie's house."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Colby glanced sideways at Charlie, even though it was difficult to see much in the natural moonlight.

They had been on the trail for over two hours. Charlie still wasn't talking. They had been walking side-by-side, but the professor was starting to lag a little behind, and his limp was growing more pronounced.

"It's about another hour, Charlie. We should get there around dawn. You okay? Want to stop for awhile?"

Charlie shook his head, and Colby resigned himself to more silence. Next time someone told him they were claustrophobic, he was going to take it a lot more seriously.

"Where are we going?"

When Charlie finally spoke, the sound startled Colby. He stopped walking, giving Charlie the break he hadn't asked for. "A cabin. More like a shack, maybe. Never was much to look at, and I haven't been up here in a couple of years."

"How do you know about it?"

"It was my grandfather's. I grew up in Idaho, but I spent several summers up here with him. The original mountain man. Lived off the land. Anyway, when he died, this place went to my father … who let his third wife have it in the divorce settlement. She remarried and moved to Italy. She knew I was working in the L.A. area by then, so she asked me to keep an eye on the place, said I could use it if I wanted. She wasn't quite willing to give up prime California real estate and let me buy it back from her, but I guess letting me use it was decent of her…"

Charlie shifted a little. "And you're going to leave me up here?"

Colby reached into his own pack for a bottle of water, took a drink. "Yeah. I'll be back in L.A. this afternoon, and then I'm going to find Addison. I'm going to end this."

"How long?"

Colby shrugged.

"Is this an official CIA operation? Are … resources … available to you, or have you gone all commando on me?"

Colby smiled. "Commando? I'm wearing underwear, Charlie."

Charlie knew he was blushing. Probably glowing in the dark. "Very funny. You know what I mean."

Colby hoisted his pack again, preparing to keep walking. "Don't worry about my resources, Charlie. I'll find him. This will end — one way or another."

Charlie shouldered his pack again and shuddered. "I'm not staying more than three days. If you don't come back by Sunday morning, I'm hitching back to L.A., and straight to Don. I was probably an idiot not to call him in the first place."

"If Don figures out you're missing," muttered Colby, "he won't wait until Sunday to come after you." He didn't say the next sentence out loud, just kept trudging up the trail, and spoke only in his own head.

"At least I hope not."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don knew his mouth was hanging open. He decided he should use it to speak.

"Look, I may resent Granger for hurting and terrorizing my family, but I never said he was stupid. Why the hell would he leave his prints all over my missing brother's house? Especially with a dead body in it. He had to know we'd process the place for prints."

Megan just shook her head, but David answered him. "Exactly."

The other two agents turned their attention to him.

"This must not be a sanctioned CIA operation." David's voice gained certainty as he thought out loud. "Last year he did what he could to protect Charlie from Addison. He ended up sacrificing a lot himself. If he knew that Charlie was in danger again, that Addison had escaped … he would go after him, CIA or not. Granger would consider Addison unfinished business."

Megan nodded slowly. "Okay. I can see that. But the prints?"

Don was beginning to see the light. "He wanted us to find out. He's an agent without back-up."

David agreed. "Right. He's a good agent, without back-up. We were his partners. We are who he still trusts." He looked at his senior agent. "Even you, Don."

"Then why didn't he just call me, or let Charlie call me?"

David shrugged. "Doesn't trust you that much, I guess. You did pretty much beat the shit out of him."

Don opened his mouth to protest, but Megan interrupted. "Never mind all that. Old news. What matters now is that Colby wanted us to know that both he and Addison are here, and that Charlie is in danger."

"Right." Don looked at David again. "So if you were Colby, what would you do with Charlie?"

"Take him to a safe house," the other agent replied immediately. "Then I'd come back and deal with Addison."

"But without his CIA contacts, he doesn't have a safe house," Don pointed out. "Where does that leave him?"

"He'd still do the same thing," Megan offered. "Get Charlie out of the way — especially after what happened last year — then deal with Addison."

"Where?", Don asked again.

David suddenly broke into a smile. "His grandfather's place."

Megan and Don looked at him expectantly.

"I've been there with him. It's a ramshackle cabin up in the mountains. His ex-sister-in-law actually owns it now, but it used to be his grandfather's, and he spent summers there with him. You have to hike the last few hours to get to it — pretty remote. He could stash Charlie there for a few days."

Don returned his smile. "You've been there? Can you find it again?"

David's smile faltered. "I was only there once. Probably a couple of years ago. I do remember that it was near Burney, we stopped there and saw some amazing waterfalls. And it was originally a homestead. Maybe Shasta County still has some old maps?"

Don checked his watch. "I'm driving up there now. Tonight. I'll check at the courthouse as soon as it's open … I hope it was his paternal grandfather, I have no idea what his mother's surname was …"

"That's probably in his personnel file," noted Megan. "If nothing is listed under 'Granger', we can call back and check."

Don smiled fondly at the other agents. "Look, this isn't even an official case for us. I appreciate all the help tonight, but …"

David crossed his arms. "Shut up, Eppes. Charlie is one of us. Colby might as well still be one of us. We're going. I'll take vacation time if I have to."

"That won't be necessary."

The agents turned to face Director Merrick as he strode toward the group. "This is official, now. One Leavenworth contact confirms an escape, today. Another says he never saw Addison return to his cell after court. That's enough for me." He looked specifically at Don. "Take five minutes to brief me on what you've got. Then, your official assignment is to go after Addison. If that means finding your brother … well, I guess we'll all just have to live with that, won't we?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

In the gray light of pre-dawn, Colby and Charlie crossed at the narrowest point a small stream, then veered to the East.

"We should break through to a clearing any time," Colby said. "GrandDad placed the cabin in a sort-of natural bowl, for fire protection. Near the creek, for water…"

Even as he spoke, the trees and vegetation began to thin, and Charlie could just make out a wooden structure in the early light. His eyes narrowed as he squinted for a better look. Colby was right — looked like this was going to be more of a shack than a cabin.

Focusing on the building, Charlie didn't notice that Colby had stopped walking until he bumped into the larger man.

"Sorry," Charlie muttered, glancing Colby's direction. He felt a cold dread start in his stomach when he saw the look on Colby's face. Although he didn't want to, he followed the direction of Colby's eyes.

There were two figures stepping off the rickety porch of the cabin. The older of the two smiled.

"It's about time, Granger. My boy and I have been waiting for you and Dr. Eppes for at least three hours. You've gotten soft. You used to be better than this."

Colby placed a restraining hand on Charlie's arm, even though Charlie wasn't moving.

At least, not walking anywhere. He thought his knees might give out and send him to the ground, though, when he heard Colby's hiss.

"Addison."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The man Charlie now knew was Ben Addison continued to advance on them, and now Charlie saw a gun in his hand. As he spoke, he raised it almost casually and pointed it at Charlie.

"I knew as soon as that idiot Michaels missed his scheduled call that you had gotten to Dr. Eppes first. Luckily, I also knew where you would bring him." He saw Colby move and fired a round past Charlie's head. The sound in the early morning mountain wilderness was deafening, and Charlie wasn't sure if the unexpected shock of it had knocked him to the ground, or if he had been hit. He just knew that he was blinking up at Colby, and he could still hear Addison talking. So even if he was hit, he wasn't dead.

"Don't even think about going for a weapon again, Granger. I won't give the good doctor another chance."

Addison suddenly loomed over him. This close, Charlie could see his face more clearly. Saw the sneer. He tried to jerk back when the man kneeled and placed the gun directly against his head, but at the same time a hand brought him roughly to his feet. He stumbled a little as Addison pulled him backwards a few steps, then felt the gun lower to his back.

He tried to read Colby's eyes, so that he knew what to do, but Granger was looking at Addison.

"How did you know about this place?"

"You really have turned into as much of an idiot as Michaels since you got back from Afghanistan. You told your buddy Jamison all about it every time you got drunk over there. He and I holed up here for almost four months last year. Appreciate the hospitality, by the way."

Colby squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them looked at Charlie. "I'm sorry, Whiz Kid …"

Addison shoved the gun hard into Charlie's back, and he grunted in surprise more than pain.

"Shut-up, Granger. You ask permission of your commanding officer before you address the prisoner again." Addison aimed his next words over his shoulder. "Bennie!" Soon the four were joined by the other man who had stood on the porch. Addison smiled at Colby. "Remember my boy, Ben Junior? I'm sure I showed you pictures."

Colby appraised the younger man carefully. Almost as big as he was, a few years younger. He looked fit; powerful.

"He's all grown up now, and I'm training him. When my work here is done, the two of us will find a war somewhere, fight together. Bennie's been working on his hand-to-hand, Granger. Wasn't that always your specialty?"

The younger Addison's sneer matched his father's.

Addison Senior poked the gun into Charlie's back again. "You and I will watch from the porch, Doc. This oughta be good." He started backing Charlie toward the cabin. "Drop your pack, Granger. You and Bennie. Hand-to-hand. No holds barred."

Addison backed up the steps with Charlie and holstered his weapon. "Don't think I can't kill you in seconds without this," he warned. He removed Charlie's pack from his shoulders and dropped it at their feet. "Might as well get comfortable. Bennie likes to play with his kill a little first. Like a cat." Terrified, Charlie marveled at the pride he heard in Addison's voice.

Charlie's eyes were glued to the clearing. Colby and Bennie had started circling each other. Then Colby lunged, taking Bennie to the ground. The two rolled.

"Watch him, Bennie! Granger used to be pretty good at this!" Addison was watching the fight like it was a basketball game. Charlie saw the younger Addison spring to his feet, saw one of those feet fly out and catch Colby under the chin while he was trying to get up. Colby fell backwards and Charlie's heart fell with him, but from his position on the ground Colby writhed and pulled Bennie back down with him, and the wrestling match was on again. Fists were flying and Charlie couldn't even tell who was being hit, or where — but he could hear the solid connections of flesh-on-flesh, the grunts that signified a hit. His heart leapt in his chest when he saw the younger Addison catapulted through the air several feet, landing awkwardly on his back, and he almost cheered when he saw Colby on his feet, hand coming out from behind his back with the gun from his waistband.

Then, simultaneously it seemed, an explosion was set off near his ear and he saw the gun fly out of Colby's hand. He and Colby fell at the same time, Charlie clutching his ear and Colby curling into himself.

Bennie Addison pushed himself off the ground and glared at his father. "You said I could have him!", he cried.

"Well, take him, then," answered Addison Senior. "Finish him off. He was cheating. I just wanted to make sure things stayed even."

Junior kept glaring and drew a hunting knife from his own belt. "Ain't no fun, anymore. Can I gut him?"

Addison smiled indulgently. "You do whatever you want, son. Your hand-to-hand still needs more practice, but so do your knife techniques. Besides, I think I'll let you take care of Dr. Eppes later, too. You can get more experience then."

Bennie's scowl turned to a smile and he approached the man on the ground again. Colby was trying to stagger to his feet, blood dripping from his hand. Bennie landed another kick under the chin, hard, and Colby almost lost consciousness this time and landed on his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Bennie sat on his fallen opponent. "It's more than you deserve," he growled, "but I'll kill you quick, gut you later, for practice." He raised the knife over his head with both hands, and aimed for Granger's heart.

Charlie heard another deafening explosion, and saw Bennie Addison's head explode. Pieces of him rained on Colby, and the senior Addison was screaming his son's name, jumping over Charlie, still hunched on the porch, running for what was left of Ben Junior.

Charlie didn't understand what had happened.

He could see Colby's gun on the ground, several feet away from both men.

His ears were ringing, and he brought a hand up to cup the right one.

It was only then that he saw that he was holding his gun, and it was smoking.

He had no memory of reaching into his pack and finding it, no memory of aiming the gun, no memory of squeezing the trigger the way Don had taught him on the range.

He looked back out to the clearing, frightened and confused. He saw that Colby had gotten free of Bennie's body, and had his own gun, again. He saw Colby try to fire it at Addison Senior, and when nothing happened, he saw Colby rush the older man, who was cradling his son's body and screaming, and slam the butt of the gun into his head. Addison slumped sideways, and then Charlie saw Colby take the knife from Bennie's hand and plunge it into Addison's gut, twisting it as he buried it to the hilt.

Unable to watch anymore, Charlie looked again at the gun in his own shaking hand. Then Colby was on him, grabbing him roughly by the back of the collar, yelling something, pulling him to his feet and pushing him back toward the edge of the clearing and the stream they had crossed before this nightmare had begun.

Charlie couldn't think, he couldn't speak. As Colby pushed him past the Addisons he felt his foot slip and looked down to see that parts of Bennie Junior's brains were on his shoes.

Charlie would have vomited, then, but Colby was still pushing, still yelling.

So Charlie tasted the bile in his mouth, and kept moving.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Charlie tried to cross the stream, but Colby's hand propelled him down the middle. At some point, he realized he was starting to hear words again.

"There's an outcrop of rocks ahead," Colby panted "You take cover there and I'll double back to be sure."

Charlie stumbled and tried to stop. Now Colby was ahead a little, and he started pulling him. "Don't worry. I've done this a few times. I'm sure he's dead. First priority, secure the civilians."

Charlie tore his eyes off his feet long enough to look ahead and see the outcrop of rocks.

He almost started to breathe, again.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Addison knew he only had one shot.

He was almost surprised he had managed to stay at least slightly conscious, managed to rip the knife from his gut and struggle to his feet, managed to stagger through the clearing and to the trees at the edge of the stream.

He knew that he was dying, knew that he was bleeding out internally. He could feel it, and he had done the same thing to a number of people himself. Hell, he had taught Granger his technique.

He should be dead already, but he had lost his spleen from a gut shot in Afghanistan — that's why they all had to die, his former unit members. They had panicked under fire, hadn't backed up their C.O. They had challenged his judgment. The Army refused to Court Martial them for mutiny, believing their side of the story. He had taken matters into his own hands, then.

Without a spleen to viscerate, the knife hadn't done all the damage it was supposed to. It had done enough, though. He knew that. His knees wobbled and he braced himself harder against the tree, used its solid bark to steady his hands as he took aim.

His boy was already dead. He was dying.

He wasn't going alone.

The last breath that left him was long, like a sigh, and the force of it helped him squeeze the trigger. He barely had time to see the bullet hit its mark before he sank to the ground himself.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby was still pulling at Charlie, so he forced himself to slow a little and draw even with him. "Been holding out on me, kid," he panted. Charlie just looked at him. "That was a helluva shot, back there. Thanks. You saved my …"

Charlie had looked away as soon as Colby started talking about what he had done to Bennie Addison, but then he felt something spray his face, vaguely heard something over the noise of them running through the stream. He looked back to see if Colby had splashed him with water, or something, but Colby was gone.

Charlie automatically raised a hand to his face, stopped running. Something pushed hard against his feet, and he almost fell over. He looked down and saw that Colby was lying on his back in the stream, one arm floating out to brush Charlie's ankle. His eyes were open, staring unseeing into the rising sun.

A sound escaped Charlie's throat and he dropped to his knees in the water, which was turning as pink as the sky. He turned Colby's head, and his hand came away wet, sticky, red.

He saw then that Colby looked just like Bennie Addison the last time he had seen him. The back of his skull was gone, and things were coming out of his head, floating away in the water.

Charlie came to his feet again, waded around Colby until he could place his hands under both arms. It was hard to drag him out of the water. Colby was heavier than Charlie, and Charlie was in shock, frightened, exhausted … but he couldn't let Colby float away from him in pieces.

He grunted, heaved and pulled. He wondered as he saw his own tears fall on Colby's face if it had started raining. He never knew that he was crying.

One last wrench and Charlie fell backwards out of the stream, dragging Colby with him. He lay looking up at the sky, growing lighter by the minute, and felt Colby's face under his hand. He caressed it.

"It'll be all right," he said, even though he knew that it would never be all right for Colby again. "I won't leave you here."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Charlie forced himself to sit up.

Colby's body began to slide off his lap, and he grabbed at him with one shaking hand while the other felt for the pulse he knew wouldn't be there. Tears stung his eyes again, and he lifted his hand enough to close Colby's.

What had happened? One second Colby was talking, and the next … the next he was on his back in the water.

Charlie looked down the bank of the stream and saw Addison slumped at the bottom of a tree, head hanging, gun loose in his hand. He started, but quickly realized the man would not have stopped shooting, would not just be sitting there, unless he, too, was dead. The wound Colby had inflicted had not been instantly fatal, as he had thought. Addison had lasted long enough to kill Colby back.

Addison and Colby had killed each other.

Charlie had killed someone, too.

To save Colby … who had ended up dead anyway.

He let himself fall back again, one hand staying on Colby's face. He closed his eyes and felt Colby's blood flow out of the back of his head, where his skull used to be, and soak his own shirt.

He would die himself, now, but he didn't really care.

He just wondered how it would happen.

Animals would be attracted by all the free food, the smell of blood. He could let them do it.

Or, he could get back in the stream, find his gun. He remembered Colby wrenching it from his hand, on the porch. He had probably dropped it when Addison's final bullet tore through his brain. Charlie could end it himself. But the water might have damaged the gun, he might go through all that trouble for nothing.

The way Colby had gone through all his trouble for nothing.

He didn't care.

He didn't care.

Let the animals take him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Once they reached the general area, David's memory served them well. They found the trailhead without waiting for the courthouse to open, and could easily see two sets of footprints in the early morning sun.

Don was especially cheered when Megan noticed that one of the four feet was soon dragging. That had to be Charlie. By time he and Colby got here, he would have been through who knows what at the house in addition to being awake for almost 24 hours. He would be favoring his right leg, dragging that side a little. For the first time since Charlie's spinal cord injury, Don was happy about the lingering affects of the accident. Now at least he knew for sure that Charlie had made it this far, and he could easily follow him the rest of the way.

They scrambled up the trail, and Don reminded himself that Colby was a good agent. He convinced himself that Granger would save Charlie. Maybe everything would be all right after all.

He allowed himself to hope.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He blinked.

It was unbelievable, but he had fallen asleep beside the stream, and now someone was shaking him.

It almost looked like Don, but Charlie knew that was impossible.

It had to be a dream, so he might as well close his eyes.

"Don't pass out on me, Charlie! Look at me! Focus! Tell me where you're hurt!"

Don's dream-voice sounded desperate, and Charlie shook his head a little. He didn't need this to turn into a nightmare.

Then again, his whole life had turned into a nightmare — so why not?

He kept his eyes closed until he felt the weight of Colby being lifted off him, then opened them quickly, angry.

"Leave him alone," he told dream-Don, who seemed to have been joined by dream-Megan. "I promised."

He continued to protest and started to struggle as he felt the weight completely leave him, replaced with searching hands.

"I think it's all Colby's blood." Charlie focused on Megan. Now dream-David was joining the party, jogging up behind her.

"There's another body in the clearing. Head shot …" Dream-David saw Colby, then. "Oh my God."

That worried Charlie.

That didn't sound like a dream.

He stopped struggling and searched for Don. His brother was crawling back toward his head from his feet.

"I can't find any wounds. He's soaking wet, but I think you're right, Megan. I think it's all Colby's." Don cautiously touched Charlie's face. "Buddy? You with me?"

Charlie shuddered, grabbed Don's arm. "You're real? You're all real?"

Don tried to smile, but he knew he was failing miserably. "Yeah, Charlie. It's over. We got you. Are you hit? Can you sit up?"

Charlie allowed Don and Megan to pull him up. Once sitting, he looked for Colby. "I promised I wouldn't leave him," he said, shivering.

Don started to pull off his jacket, but David was faster and thrust a sweatshirt in front of him. Don accepted gratefully. He started to unbutton Charlie's blood-soaked shirt, taking extreme care, even though he knew Charlie would never wear it again. He just wanted to be gentle. Working together, he and Megan got the shirt off. The t-shirt below was soaked as well. "Charlie, can you lift your arms for me? We need to get this shirt off."

"I can do it." Charlie was coming back to himself a little. He removed the t-shirt and held it in his hands. Don took it from him.

"Put this on, Buddy." He gave Charlie David's sweatshirt. Charlie struggled a little, and Megan reached out to help him.

Don looked up at David. "Have you tried your cell? Is there reception?"

David shook his head, looked again at Colby. "I'll go back to the clearing and try there."

Don looked at Charlie as his curly head popped through the neck of the sweatshirt. "Do you think you can walk? We should get you to the cabin."

The curls shook furiously. Charlie was never going back to that cabin again. Besides, he had promised. "I won't leave him."

Don allowed himself to really look at Colby for the first time.

This man had saved his brother's life — at least twice that he knew about — and had lost his own in the process. He settled more comfortably on the ground, and looked back at Charlie. "We won't leave him."

The three were silent for a while. Finally, Megan was the one to ask. "What happened? We found Addison."

Charlie just tilted his head a little toward Colby.

David jogged back up, squatted on the ground with the rest of them. "I can't believe it, but I actually got through to somebody. I guess they have satellites everywhere these days. Rescue and … and retrieval … is coming from Burney. It will probably be about four hours."

Don nodded without taking his eyes off Charlie. "Who's in the clearing, Charlie?"

Charlie dragged his eyes away from Colby. Already dark with grief and fear, they clouded more. "Addison's son. He was going to kill Colby. They were fighting. Addison made me watch."

Don nodded again. "Granger got him, first."

Charlie was shaking his head, and Don frowned, waited for him to say something more.

Charlie's voice dropped to a whisper, hard to hear over the sound of the nearby water. "I'm sorry. I had to. I'm sorry. God. I'm sorry."

Don's gut clenched. Was Charlie saying that _he_ had killed the man in the clearing? Charlie?

He quickly tried to clear his face of anything but support, and moved a little closer to Charlie. "Never mind. We can talk about that later. You're okay." He felt Charlie stiffen when he draped an arm around his thin shoulders, but he didn't pull away. So Don sat like that, holding Charlie, silently watching Megan dig through her pack and find an extra pair of socks.

With the utmost care, she removed Charlie's soaked shoes and socks.

With the gentlest of hands, she massaged his cold feet.

With the occasional hot tear, she warmed them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

While Charlie was in the shower late that afternoon, Don called Alan. He told his father only that Charlie needed him, and asked him to cut his visit with Aunt Ida short.

After he picked Alan up at the airport the next day, he stopped at the first restaurant he found, and watched his father pale while he listened to the story.

"Charlie only told us a little of this, yesterday, when we found him in the mountains. Director Merrick took his statement himself yesterday afternoon. I got the rest of the details from his report this morning."

Alan rubbed a hand over his face. "My God. Where is he? Is he alone?"

Don shook his head. "I stayed at the house last night. He went to work this morning."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "He what?"

Don shrugged. "I couldn't stop him. He said it was bad enough that he missed one day of finals. I called Larry, after he left, asked him to keep an eye on him …"

"He's not hurt? Physically?"

Don shrugged again. "He's not shot or anything, if that's what you mean. But he's a mess, Dad. Exhausted. Shocky. I'm pretty sure he's getting a cold from being in the water … there's been some coughing and sneezing."

"I'll make soup. Stop at the store on the way home, will you?" Alan suddenly teared up, scaring Don half to death. "He killed someone? Charlie?"

Don reached across the table to touch Alan's hand. "Merrick says it's clearly self-defense. There won't be any consequences."

Alan snorted. "Maybe not legally. But how will he ever learn to live with what he's done? He's not like you, Donnie."

He saw the look that crossed Don's face and clutched madly at the fingers that were drawing away. "Don't, don't, I said that badly. I don't mean to imply that you in some way enjoy that aspect of your job. I'm sorry …"

Don offered a tiny smile. "It's okay. I know what you mean. We just have to keep reassuring him that he did nothing wrong in defending himself, and Colby. That we don't think of him as some sort of monster, now."

Alan sighed. "How can we do that, without words? I know your brother. He's not going to talk about this."

Don sighed too. "I don't know. We can't push him. Besides … besides Addison, there's Colby. He wouldn't leave him at all until after they got him off the mountain. When they put him in … when they closed the door of … of the hearse, he made a sort of strangled cry and went down like a ton of bricks. Passed clean out."

One of the tears escaped. Alan brushed at it almost angrily. "I don't think I can wait until tonight to see him."

Don cleared his throat, unsure how to say the next part. "He doesn't know I called you, Dad. After I did, he actually asked me not to … I changed the subject. I think he needs you." He smiled a little. "And I know you'd never let me hear the end of it if I let you stay away for another week." His smile faded. "But he's really fragile, Dad. You've got to try not to smother him."

Alan almost whined. "But you said he's getting a cold! I always make your grandmother's chicken soup when you boys get sick … oy, Donnie. How can I not smother him?"

Don tried to reassure him. "It's okay to make soup, Dad. Just don't pour it down his throat." Alan sighed again, and Don tried to lighten the mood a little.

"Maybe … maybe you could skip the green Jell-O."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Larry hesitated in the doorway of the office. Classes had been over for hours, but Charlie had refused to leave after his last final, saying he needed to grade yesterday's. The stack of blue books on his desk didn't look as if they had been touched.

"Charles, let me give you a ride home. You can leave your car in the faculty lot this weekend. I'll pick you up Monday."

Charlie started, sneezed, looked at Larry and wondered at the darkness of the office. Where had the afternoon gone? "I …" He looked around for his keys, suddenly too tired to care where they were. Even if he found them, he didn't think he could stay awake long enough to drive home. He hadn't slept since his nap beside the stream, and weariness leeched out of his bones, making his limbs heavy.

Larry stepped a little further into the office. "Do you want to take the finals home? Perhaps you should just rest this weekend. It will all be here Monday."

Charlie looked at his desk, then back at Larry. "I don't have a backpack. I threw it away."

He looked forlorn, as if he were telling Larry that he had thrown away something much more important.

"It's all right. As I said, just leave it all here this weekend. I'm certain I have an extra book bag at home; I'll bring it for you Monday."

Charlie nodded, sneezed again. He didn't have anything else to say as he allowed Larry to lead him to his car and drive him home.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don had stayed at the house that afternoon when he brought Alan home, and he looked up from the newspaper when he heard Larry's car in the driveway. He slowly rose from the couch and went to the window.

He saw Charlie crawl out of Larry's car, and heard the kitchen door slam. He saw his father hurrying across the driveway, still drying his hands on a towel. Don wasn't really surprised that Alan couldn't even wait for Charlie to come into the house.

The towel dropped to the ground as Alan gathered his youngest son to him. Despite Don's warning, he couldn't seem to stop himself, and held Charlie tightly, loathe to let go. "It's all right," he kept whispering into Charlie's ear, trying to make them all believe it.

From the window, Don could see that Charlie's own arms hung limply at his sides. He was making no attempt to return his father's embrace.

This would have worried Don more than it did, if he hadn't seen Charlie lean his head into Alan's shoulder. If he hadn't seen Charlie's own shoulders relax, just a little. If he hadn't seen Larry's smile, as he watched the two of them.

If he hadn't known himself how much of a difference a father's love could make.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

When Don called to check on Charlie Saturday, Alan informed him that he was in the garage, grading the finals he had biked to campus to pick up that morning.

"You're kidding."

"He's an adult. What can I do? His cold isn't that bad. What happened to his backpack? He had a new one when he came home."

"It was pretty wet. He probably could have dried it out, but he wouldn't even take it back from me. Told me to throw it away."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I went through it first, and there wasn't much in it … Dad. It's still in evidence right now, but eventually, they're going to release the gun."

Alan sounded tired. "Well. I guess we'll just deal with that when we have to."

"You're sounding kind-of frazzled yourself, Dad."

"It's hard, doing nothing. No matter how much practice you boys give me."

Don bristled. "Hey. Why am I in trouble, here?"

A soft chuckle. "The two of you. So different. So much alike. Why is it so hard for you to need people?"

Don didn't like the way this conversation was going. "I can't speak for Charlie, Dad."

"So speak for yourself."

"Look, it's a birth-order thing. At least that's what Kim always said. I'm the oldest, I'm the one expected to be strong. Complicated by my choice of career. She took some stupid class."

Alan was silent for so long Don opened his mouth to say something else, but then he heard his father's voice.

"I'm sorry if we made you feel that you couldn't need us. We were wrong to do that."

Don felt himself blush, and was glad his father couldn't see him. "Dad. Don't get all guilty on me. I had great parents. I'll introduce you, sometime."

"I just want both my boys to know. You two are my life."

"We know that, Dad. We always have. I know this is hard for you."

Alan sighed. "Imagine what it is for your brother."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don had intended to spend as much time at the house as he could that weekend, but the team was called to a crime scene Saturday afternoon, and it was Monday evening before he actually saw Charlie again.

His father and brother had finished dinner before he arrived, and Alan was just leaving for his book club. After he left, Don stuck a plate for himself in the microwave and sat down at the kitchen table. Charlie was sitting there, a book unopened in front of him. Alan had told Don on the phone yesterday that Charlie wouldn't eat in the dining room, anymore.

"How's work?"

Charlie looked up from the cover of the book. "Fine. Finished all the finals, today. I've decided to teach some classes during summer session, so I'll spend this week working on my syllabi and lesson plans."

Don was surprised. "I didn't know that. You don't usually teach during the summer. I thought you'd work on your … your cognitive thing."

"I'm sure I'll have time for both. And consulting, if you need something."

They sat in silence for a while. Finally, Don cleared his throat. "Charlie … Colby's mother called David today. A service is planned for his hometown in Idaho Friday afternoon. We all talked about it, and Megan, David and I will fly out to Boise Friday morning. We can take the late flight home Friday evening. Megan thinks it will help us all … with 'closure', or some other ten-dollar buzzword. Anyway. She's going to book the flights tomorrow. We … all of us … we wanted to ask if you'd like to go along, before we got the tickets."

Charlie blinked at him a few times, and when he spoke, his demeanor was very polite — as if he were talking to a stranger. "No, thank you. It was very considerate of you all to think of me. But no. No, thank you."

Don waited for the 'ding' of the microwave and decided to lay it all out. "Charlie. Ignoring all of this won't make it go away. You can't work it away, either."

Charlie looked back at the book. He was clutching it as if it were a life preserver. "I wonder…" His voice cracked. He swallowed, grabbed the glass of water still on the table from dinner, took a sip and swallowed once more. When he began again, his voice was steadier. "I wonder," he repeated, "if we could not talk about this." His voice was soft, almost subdued. His eyes met Don's briefly, then fell back to the book. "Is that all right?"

Don didn't want to let it go yet. "You should know that I've had to make the same decision. I mean, training tries to prepare us for it, and I'm not saying shooting someone during a bust is the same thing as your … experience."

"Please." Charlie pushed back his chair, and Don was afraid he'd get up and leave. He put a hand out toward him.

"Okay, stop, I'm sorry." But he still couldn't let it go. "Just so you know."

Charlie hesitated. He was still looking at the book, the table, anywhere but at Don. "It's not…I'm not…I need…" He suddenly slumped back in his chair and sighed, finally looked at Don again. "I'm still processing. I can't articulate a clear thought. Obviously."

Don tried to reassure him. "That's okay. Just remember, whenever you want to talk about it — you know where I live."

Charlie smiled. A little sadly, Don thought, but he made at attempt at normalcy. As the microwave finally sounded, Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You live in my kitchen, I think."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He was a veteran. A former FBI agent. A hometown hero.

And when the seven uniformed men from the local VFW raised their rifles at the graveside service to fire the traditional 21-gun salute, Don was very glad that Charlie had not come.

As the first report sounded, he felt Megan flinch beside him.

During the second report, out of the corner of his eye, he saw David raise a hand to his own eyes.

When the third report rang out, Don felt it in his own heart.

He remembered the months they had worked together.

He remembered the way that all ended.

He remembered the fight in the hospital.

He had never made it right.

He watched them fold the flag, present it to Colby's mother.

It was not possible to be sorrier than he was. To feel worse.

And it was not possible to know what he did with more certainty. He had let Colby down.

He would not do the same to Charlie.


	13. Chapter 13

"_**Instead of seeing the rug being pulled from under us, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet." (Thomas Crum)**_

**Chapter 13**

Life, Don had noticed over the years, had a sneaky way of happening.

He tried to keep up with Charlie, he really did. He drove his father crazy calling for reports. He drove Charlie crazy.

"Stop it," his brother had said just two days ago. "You're worse than that wart I used to have on my toe. I thought I would never get rid of it, either."

So Don had backed off. He knew he was doing exactly what he had warned his father against.

But he also knew what it was like, to look down at your own hands and know that without them, another human being would still be alive.

Difficult as it was, he tried to concentrate on something else. Work. Face it, that was the only other thing he had, besides his family. At work, he and David and Megan took care of each other. He was thankful that neither of them seemed to blame him for what had happened with Colby. In fact, it had actually made them a tighter unit. Megan even thought they would have to be careful not to exclude the newest team member. After over a year and three temporaries, Merrick had informed them that Colby's permanent replacement was on the way. A young agent. This would be only her second assignment since Quantico. Don sighed. Breaking in a new agent. He hadn't done that in years. That should prove a distraction. But she wasn't due for a few weeks yet. What was he going to do until then?

He flipped open his cell to call his father, feeling like an idiot. Okay, so he would back off on Charlie. Didn't mean he couldn't still keep tabs on him.

"Hey, Dad."

"Donnie. I've been waiting for your afternoon check-in."

"Sorry."

"You never have to apologize to your father because you're trying to look after your brother, Don."

Don smiled. "So how is he, today?"

Alan took just a second too long to answer. "I'm sure he's all right."

Don sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Spill it, old man."

Alan sighed. "You know I wouldn't ordinarily let you get away with that."

"But?"

"He's just so … polite. It's like living with a stranger. I can't tell you that he's doing anything wrong. He's eating. If he's having nightmares, I haven't heard them. He helps with the dishes. Don. I walked by his room today — the door was open — and it was clean … neat."

Don gave a low whistle. "You're right. That's a stranger."

"Maybe you shouldn't back off just yet, even if he's asked you to."

Don checked his watch. "I should be on time tonight. I could come for dinner."

"Please. I always enjoy that. Unfortunately, Charlie won't be here. He's teaching a night class this session."

Don thought. "I'll try to call him tomorrow for lunch, then. Listen, Dad …"

"Yes?"

"Let me bring take-out, tonight. To make up for the 'old man' crack. Chinese?"

Alan chuckled a little. "Won't be that easy, my boy. I'm already marinating some steaks — you can cook them."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He was almost drugged.

Between the meal, the beer, and the sound of rain on the roof, he was lulled into the most restful sleep he'd had in months.

So of course he would get called to a crime scene in the middle of the night.

Don groaned. No good to ignore it. He rolled over in the bed and grabbed the cell from the nightstand. "Eppes."

"D – D – D – D"

"What? Who is this?" Don didn't bother to check his caller ID. If this was a wrong number, the less awake he got, the better.

"D – Don. It's me."

Suddenly, Don was awake. "Charlie?" He glanced at the alarm clock. 2:30 in the morning. "What's wrong?"

"I … I … I need … It's c- c- cold."

"Charlie, you're freaking me out, here. Where are you?"

"I … I … don't know. I we…went for a walk."

"In the middle of the night? In the rain?"

"I don't … don't remember any r-rain, when I l-left. I … I don't know when that was."

Don sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, squinting in the sudden light.

"Tell me where you are. I'll come and get you."

Don heard a tiny sneeze, a sniffle. "I don't know."

"Look around. Do you see any business signs? Are you near a corner, are there street signs?"

"I can't do this."

Don heard the quiet despair and it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. "Charlie, come on. Just tell me where you are. I'll come, Charlie."

Charlie was quiet for so long Don was afraid he had hung up, but then he heard another sneeze.

"Charlie!"

"M- m- Mexican restaurant. C- c- closed."

Don grabbed the phone book from the nightstand drawer. "Name, Charlie."

"El … El Arrier. The Doorway. To what, I wonder?"

Don thumbed the yellow pages. Thank God. Only one of them. "Okay, Charlie, I've got one. Are you standing in the rain?"

"Yes."

Don was out of bed now, trying to dress with one hand. "Well, get out of it. Get in the doorway of the restaurant."

Charlie laughed a little wildly. "Get in the doorway of The Doorway? S- Someone is there."

Oh, shit. Don made the connection to the address. Charlie was not in a good place. "Okay, never mind. Dammit. Just stay where you are. Don't talk to anybody. Talk … talk to yourself, they'll think you're crazy and leave you alone."

Charlie laughed again. "Not a prob…problem. Am crazy."

Don slipped his feet into some slippers. No time for shoes and socks. "No, you're not, Chuck." He grabbed his keys, shoved them in his pocket and took both coats out of the hall closet. "I'm coming."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Every time I close my eyes, it's one or the other of them. I never know who until I roll him over, because when the back of their heads blow off, it looks pretty much the same. Either way, I'm the one holding the gun."

Charlie was planted on Don's couch, wearing Don's sweats, warming his hands around a cup of Don's coffee. Don sat in the chair facing the couch and let his brother talk.

"And…And I eat, because I know Dad is watching me…" He looked at Don. "…when you aren't … but I always throw it up, later. He thinks I go to the garage to work, but I go out there so he won't hear me. I feel sorry for the garbage man."

Charlie carefully set the mug down on the coffee table in front of the couch, and shivered. He huddled a little deeper into the blanket Don had placed around his shoulders. "I don't know what to do. What is there to do?"

Don leaned forward in the chair a little. "Make a choice, Charlie."

Charlie's expression changed from desolate to confused. "What?"

"Choose your memories. You can remember that Colby thought enough of you to do what he did — or you can remember the look on his face whenever you tried to explain one of your theories — or you can remember what motivated you in the first place to help, to consult with all the departments you've worked with."

"Right." Charlie's voice was bitter. "It's that easy."

"I never said that it was easy. It's necessary. Necessary is hardly ever easy."

"I feel like I'm coming apart."

Don remembered. Don remembered that feeling. He leaned even closer to Charlie, smiled grimly. "I know. And as scary as that is, Charlie — something has to fall to pieces before it can be put back together. Put it back together right, and it'll be stronger than it ever was."

Charlie looked at him for a few seconds, and then allowed his head to loll back on the couch. "I'm tired."

"Then sleep." Don stood and started turning out lights, made sure the curtains were closed so that the morning light wouldn't wake him. "One more thing to remember."

"Mmm?" Charlie didn't open his eyes. He was almost gone, already.

"Always. Always remember. You're not alone."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: "_mein neschume_ " is Yiddish for "My Soul".**

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**Chapter 14**

After Charlie's meltdown, for a few days he seemed to become the basket case everyone had been expecting. The nightmares became vocal enough for Alan to hear them, He stopped pretending to eat. His moods alternated between sullen, angry and bitter.

It was hard to take. They were trying so hard to help him.

And then, one morning, he joined Alan for breakfast. Voluntarily.

The next day, he went to lunch with Larry.

The day after that, he slept through the night.

Small steps, every one…but add them together, and you could see that Charlie was moving, again.

Don started to relax a little, walking a delicate tightrope. He wanted Charlie to know that he was there — but he also needed to give Charlie room to breathe.

Sometimes, balance wasn't easy.

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When Don entered the bullpen and saw Megan and David standing together at David's desk, heads bent over a magazine, he thought about pulling rank.

Then he approached, and recognized that it was the in-house employee magazine. He had gotten one a few days ago himself. Tossed it in the desk drawer with the others. But he guessed he couldn't really reprimand anyone for actually reading it. As he started to veer off back toward his own desk, David saw him out of the corner of his eye and waved him over.

"Have you seen this?"

Don looked at the open page and saw a picture of Colby. The headline next to the picture read, **"Former L.A. Agent Honored with Scholarship"**. Don smiled. "That's great," he said sincerely, and made to leave again, but David thrust the magazine into his hands.

"No. Read it."

Don looked at David, saw the sincerity, and dropped his eyes to the page:

"_Former Special Agent Colby S. Granger, who was last assigned to the Los Angeles office, has recently been honored with a scholarship fund in his name. The Colby S. Granger Fund is earmarked for the children of disabled and fallen agents, and will help them with secondary educational needs after high school. The fund was established by a new Los Angeles-area blind trust, WKF, or the "Whiz Kid Foundation". Those interested in applying for a scholarship from the Colby S. Granger Fund should see the office Director for details."_

Don pulled out David's chair. He suddenly had to sit down.

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He found Charlie, who still wouldn't use the dining room, grading papers at the kitchen table. He stopped at the refrigerator long enough to grab a beer and sat down opposite him.

"Where's Dad?"

Charlie didn't even look up. "Stan. Dinner. Project."

Don smiled. "Been a little busy there, haven't you, Chuck?"

The hated nickname lifted Charlie's head from the papers, and he scowled. Don pushed the clipping across the table.

Charlie picked it up and read it.

He pushed it back.

"What makes you think…"

Don laughed. "Come on, Charlie. 'Whiz Kid Foundation'? Who else could it be?"

Charlie didn't answer, just lifted his bottle of water and took a drink.

"Megan and David were a little upset that you didn't give us all a chance to contribute."

Charlie put down the bottle.

"Don't worry. It's not my money. I convinced Samuels at the DOD that securing a generous donor would go a long way toward my not telling the press everything I've learned."

Don's eyes widened. "You're kidding. You blackmailed the head of the Department of Defense?"

Charlie grinned. "Colby would like that, don't you think?"

Don felt himself grinning in return.

"Also," continued Charlie, "I may have agreed to work on another DOD project. He found an extremely generous private donor."

Don's grin fell off. "Charlie! You can't work for them again!"

Charlie shrugged and looked at Don. There was a hard glint in his eyes. "Why not? At least this time I know what to look for, what to expect. I can't un-learn the lessons I've been taught. But I can use those lessons. And I can use those people. They taught me how to do it themselves."

Don carefully replaced the clipping in his wallet. "Charlie." His voice was quiet, sincere. "I hope you know what an amazing man you are."

Charlie had been expecting a lot of things, but that was not one of them. He gaped at Don. Don grabbed his beer and stood.

"I am so proud to be your brother. I hope you know that. I know we don't do this sort of thing — but I love you, Charlie."

Having stunned his brother into silence, Don pushed his way through the kitchen door and headed for the television.

There had to be a game on somewhere.

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It was after 10:30 when Alan finally got home. Don's car was in the driveway, and he smiled as he let himself in the kitchen door. Been seeing a lot of Don, lately. That was good.

Charlie was still grading papers at the table, just like when he left.

"I thought summer school was supposed to be easy."

Charlie looked up and smiled. "I think that's what these guys thought, too. Hate to let your bubble burst."

Alan squeezed his shoulder. "I'm tired, son. I think I'll just say hello to your brother and head up to bed." He started for the swinging door. "Don't stay up all night."

"I won't, I'm almost done. Dad?"

Alan stopped, one hand on the door, looked back. "Yes?"

"Good-night. I love you."

Alan smiled broadly. "And I you, Little One. Good-night."

He pushed through the door, shaking his head. He saw Don shrugging into his jacket.

"Leaving? Not on my account, I hope?"

Don grinned. "Nope. Game's over. Headed home."

Alan made for the stairs, patting Don's arm as he passed. "Well, drive carefully, son."

He got up three steps before Don's "Dad?" stopped him. He paused and turned around. "Yes?"

"Have a good night. I love you."

Alan smiled broadly again. "I love you too, **_mein neschume_**." He watched Don disappear into the kitchen and started back up the stairs. He didn't know what had gotten into his sons, tonight.

But he liked it.

He liked it very much.

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EPILOGUE 

Charlie stepped off the elevator and into the bullpen. He had stalled all he could. Now he had to let Don, David and Megan take the WKF out to lunch.

The three stood bunched around Colby's old desk, and as he approached he could see a young woman emptying the contents of a box into the drawers. Don saw him arrive.

"Good, Archie, here's the consultant I was telling you about. You'll probably be seeing a lot of each other. Charlie, this is Agent Travis. She's joining the team permanently. And this is Dr. Charles Eppes."

Charlie reached out a hand. "Please, call me Charlie."

She accepted his hand and shook it firmly. "I'm Archie."

Charlie smiled shyly. "Such an unusual name."

She laughed, eyeing Charlie's curly head.

"_Great," thought Don. "Another vote for long, curly hair."_

"…parents," the new agent was saying when he tuned back in to the conversation. "You would not believe my actual name. I've always gone by 'Archie'."

Charlie's smile grew a little less shy. "Please. I'd love to know your real name."

She shrugged. "You asked for it. It's Greek. 'Archimedes'."

Charlie paled so suddenly that Don got worried and put a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

Charlie looked at him. His gaze was full of wonder — delight, even. "Archimedes. Don. He discovered Pi."

His new agent gasped audibly. "I have never in my life met anyone who knew that."

"Charlie's not just a consultant," Don offered. "He's a math professor at Cal Sci. Pi is his world."

She laughed, and it sounded like ice tinkling in a glass. "Unbelievable. My parents both teach high school math. They're idiots for math. They named me after a Greek math God, for Pete's sake."

Charlie was growing less shy by the second. "We were just going to lunch. Perhaps you'd join us, Archimedes?"

She grimaced playfully. "Please. When you call me that, I feel like I'm about to get in trouble for something."

Don was starting to feel like he and Megan and David weren't really needed for this conversation. But he'd be dammed if he was going to miss it.

" 'Meda', then? I'm not sure I can refer to such a beautiful woman as 'Archie'."

The new agent laughed again as she allowed Charlie to escort her toward the elevator. " 'Meda', I like that." A few inches shorter than Charlie, she looked up at him. "Charlie, did you know that Archimedes also invented the screw?"

Charlie continued the conversation, seeming to completely miss the double entendre. Don, following with the others, mentally chastised himself for making the association himself, until he saw Megan's barely suppressed smile.

And if he tilted his head just right, and really listened, he could swear that he heard Colby laughing.

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**A/N: Apparently everything for the last few chapters has sounded like an ending. If you are still reading, this is really it! **

**Damn, that was fun! Thanks to FluffNutter for a great sequel idea, and stay tuned for possible future Archie sightings! One never knows where she'll crop up.**


End file.
